


Ghosts

by sourwolfing



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourwolfing/pseuds/sourwolfing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One day you're going to find yourself face to face with someone who doesn't give you what you want; they won't show you fear. Then what, Derek? What happens then?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts

It was dusk, almost dark. The sunlight was quickly fading away. Broken street lights cast dim light and eerie shadows over the city just as they did every night, never hesitating to show the city's true colors. It became an entirely different place at night; dark, dangerous, cold. The bright light of day was enough to mask the cruelty and corruption that lay behind every closed door, in every office, every official building. There wasn't a safe place anywhere within the city and no one was immune to the horrors that had become so commonplace, so blasé. During the day it was easy to pretend that the children were safe, that life was good and all would be well - but as soon as the sun began to set, everything changed and by the time the last sliver of daylight was beginning to disappear the streets were empty.

The only souls who dared to walk the streets at night were misguided fools, men with vendettas and scores to settle - they had something to prove, messages that needed to get across. They came alive at night and felt comfortable in the darkness. It was their home, the only place they felt safe.

Or, at least, that's how it felt for Derek Hale.

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he cast an uninterested glance to his right when a car passed by - an unusual occurrence for this hour, but he was unphased. Whoever it was, they were of no interest to him. If they were, they would have pulled over, started trouble. And they wouldn't say a word about what they may or may not have seen. In this world, silence was your only ally. The only way to keep yourself - and your family - safe. He had sources, means, tactics. And people knew it. Speaking ill of Derek Hale, aiding the police in their fruitless effort to bring him down, was undoubtedly a death sentence. Derek had never lost an ounce of sleep over the death of a rat, and he never would. Because he was a businessman, and eliminating weak links, threats to his empire, it was all in good business.

The cigarette hung loosely from his fingertips and he crouched down, face so skillfully void of any emotion. There was no anger, no desperation, nothing. It had taken years for him to get it right, to force the terseness from his lips and keep the regret from shining through his eyes. But he had only been a kid then - a young boy coming to terms with his reality, struggling to accept what his life was to become. That was a long time ago. He'd grown up, moved on. He'd gotten over it. It had been hard then, to look into the eyes of a man he was to kill. The first few times he had looked away, something that had greatly displeased his father.  _Weak - you're weak Derek_. The words played in his mind over and over again, even now. Even now that his father was dead and he'd come so far. Now he could look all those men in the eye, could hold a gun to their heads and pull the trigger and feel nothing. It was all in good business.

_You're weak, Derek._

He had no idea why he kept hearing his father's voice now when he was hovering over the bloodied and battered near-lifeless form of a man he'd been sent to kill, but it pissed him off, igniting a burning anger in the pit of his stomach that was hard to ignore. The old man had never understood the bloodlust that Derek had developed - the need to inflict as much pain as possible, to torture. But the answer was simple. He enjoyed suffering, watching the fear burn in their eyes while they begged for their lives. It made him feel strong. In control. Their lives were in his hands. His father didn't agree. Said his need to feel that power, his desire to play god made him weak. Strong men killed efficiently, quickly. Did what needed to get done and that was the end of it. 

_One day you're going to find yourself face to face with someone who doesn't give you what you want; they won't show you fear. Then what, Derek? What happens then?_

"Please -"

Even in the dark Derek could see the blood pouring from his nose, his mouth, his forehead. There was blood everywhere and the familiar coppery smell filled his nose. He inhaled deeply, let it fill his lungs and he almost smiled. Taking one last drag of his cigarette, he put it out against the man's forehead before flicking it to the side. The man winced but said nothing; at this point, Derek doubted he could feel much of anything.

"Please, I have a family. I'll do anything, just let me go."

Once upon a time Derek would have considered it. He would have looked upon the man with pity, felt some sort of empathy. He would have thought of his own father. His uncle. His sister. His mother. Family. This man had a family, people who loved him. Once upon a time that would have made him feel something. Now all he could think about was how he'd never really known the meaning of the word - family. He couldn't remember a time when his father had told him she loved him. He couldn't remember a time when his mother had held him in her arms. He and his sister had spent more time with their uncle who was the very definition of a psychopath than they did with their own parents. Life as a member of the Hale family had never been about anything other than death and money.

"My family... please..."

_You're weak, Derek._

Standing up, he pulled the gun from his back pocket and fired.  
  


* * *

 

"We need to talk."

Derek didn't even have to look to know that it was Peter. His uncle. The man who had been keeping him alive all these years. As sick and demented as he was - because not even Derek wanted to walk through the dark recess of Peter's mind - he looked after his nephew in his own strange way.

"Kind of busy right now."

"Your car can wait, this can't."

"Just give me five minutes."

Peter hooked his foot under Derek's ankle and pulled him out from under the car. Sitting up, Derek glared at him for a moment before lying down again, attempting to roll himself back underneath; his uncle stopped him. This time Derek let out a defeated sigh, grabbing a nearby towel and wiping the grease from his hands.

"Stand up, you know I don't like looking down at you like that."

"No, we both know you'd much rather look down on me from eye level."

"Ouch," Peter feigned insult, "But isn't that something you should be saying to your father instead?"

"He's dead."

"Good point."

"Look, just tell me who it is so I can get back to what I was doing."

"Oh, come on, you know that's not how I do things."

"That's because you're a drama queen."

"You do know that I know at least fifty different ways to kill you with my bare hands?" Peter warned, raising an eyebrow.

"Funny," Derek sneered, "I was about to say the same thing."

"Touché."

Derek rubbed the side of his face, leaving a black smudge from the corner of his eye to the tip of his chin, watching Peter's lip curl in distaste. The man had always taken great pride in his looks and put in a lot of time and effort maintaining his appearance; Derek did not. They couldn't be more different, the only things connecting them their last name and their professions.

"So, are you going to tell me? Or are we just going to stand here and stare at each other all day?"

"You're so pushy -"

"Whatever."

"So was your father."

He tried to pretend that didn't sting, didn't feel like Peter had just stabbed him in the gut, twisting the knife as he pushed deeper and deeper into him - but he had always been transparent, at least around Peter. It was frightening how sometimes the older man seemed to know more about him than he knew about himself. Which meant he knew exactly how to push Derek's buttons, back him into a corner without having to raise a finger.

"Are you going to tell me or not? Because you're really starting to piss me off."

"I need you to do something for me. A favor of sorts."

"Yeah, sure. Just fucking tell me what it is, and leave."

"It makes me very sad that you have absolutely no appreciation for dramatic flare."

"Peter," Derek warned.

"You're getting married."

Derek paused, not sure he'd heard him quite right, "What?"

"Congratulations, you're engaged."

"You're not serious."

"Come on, let's go meet your blushing bride to be."


End file.
